An Aid of Gratitude
by Silverwindghost
Summary: In April of 1979, America was given a subordinate-his very own backup-the ultimate "sidekick". But it's easy to take one for granted, and sometimes a show of gratitude may come too little too late. Unromantic America/OC relationship.


" Bloody git. You're both gits, it's a miracle you haven't killed yourselves yet. One idiot in charge of another-_very_ promising."

America was too emotionally drained to respond, even if he had have been readily equipped with a comeback. Which he wasn't. It wasn't _his_ fault, he had been the Hero as always-but sometimes England saw things in weird ways. Not that it really mattered. Listlessly, he shuffled over to stand beside England and the bed, gazing down at the figure lying bundled up in it.

" Is...he gonna be okay?"

England scoffed.

" As 'okay' as one can hope to be after passing out from exhaustion in the mud in the middle of a rainstorm. He's caught a cold that I'll be blast if doesn't turn into pneumonia, and I expect he's hardly slept at all in upwards of a week, at least. But he'll live. Does that answer suffice?"

" I guess so..."

England's features softened somewhat at the tone of America's voice. He had sounded panic stricken on the phone, declaring shrilly that FEMA was "asleep on the ground and wouldn't wake up." England arrived a short time later at the location: a desolate compound in the middle of nowhere, to find America kneeling in the rain behind three layers of barbed wire fencing, holding his underling's head in his arms. FEMA's dark clothes and sodden hair blended into the muddy ground like camoflauge. That wanker America hadn't even the sense to take him inside out of the rain, but England found it hard to blame him. He had seemed thouroughly traumatized, shaking from the cold rain and fear. Together, they had brought FEMA back to America's house, put him in dry clothes, and a warm bed. That was three hours ago, and still, FEMA slept. He looked smaller than ever in the big bed, his breathing labored and thin, his hair still damp and splayed out around his face and pillow. He shivered, and England pulled the blankets higher around his body.

" He'll be okay, America." England looked up, offering a small smile. " He just needs to sleep." America didn't answer back, his eyes were locked firmly on FEMA's sleeping face. England stood, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I promise, he'll make it. I have to go get him some medicine at the pharmacy, so you stay here and keep an eye on him. Don't try to wake him, just let him sleep and call me if anything looks wrong, okay?"

" Okay...but...hurry, okay England? He needs help..."

England gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

" I know, git. I will."

" M'kay." America sat down on the edge of the bed, watching as the blankets rose and fell in time with FEMA's breathing. His eyes traveled upward, studying the thin, freckled face and golden hair with an intense interest. He was _proud_ of the agency-had he ever told him that? America treasured FEMA because he was _his_, even when he took too long to respond to assignments and did things that made America angry. Sure, there had been incidents over the years for which America still held a sore spot, but he didn't mean to take it out on FEMA all the time. He didn't, did he? Blearily, America tried to remember the last time he had seen the agency peacefully, willingly asleep. His mind traveled further and further into th epast, never stopping until it reached that Day. April 1st, 1979. FEMA's birthday. America still recalled with crystal clarity how excited he had been, when his boss informed him that a new, special agency had been created from a number of weaker ones. He would be put under America's lone control-the ultimate backup and sidekick-or at least, that's how America saw it. FEMA:created to aid the hero in the preservation of justice and the American pepole. he had been so excited, standing in this very room, watching his new agency sleep. He remembered the confusion as well, for no agency had ever become a Power before, but the happiness outweighed bewilderment, and America was ecstatic. He remembered how peacefully FEMA had slept, how relaxed, like a child at rest. Of course, he had awoken shortly after and was terrified by America's presence standing over him, but he had been peaceful in the beginning. However, from that day on, he never looked the same. He was almost always awake, skulking around America's house when he had to, but spending most of his time alone in the isolated countryside. He talked to himself and seemed frazzled and stressed, worn thin to the wire, which America failed to understand. He had just as many duties himself as FEMA, surely-probably more,since he was the Hero and all. He handled it. But when FEMA seemed disturbed, and when he finally would sleep, it was deep and unnatural, usually curled on the floor or propped against a wall, wherever he happened to be when his body simply couldn't take any more.

"Ngh...gotta...adjust the antenna...or the radar won't..." FEMA muttered in his sleep, cutting off short into a fit of coughing. Dizzily, his eyes fluttered open, widening in surprise as he registered his surroundings. "what...where am I..." The words came out faint: croaky and hoarse. " -merica, 'y're you-"

" YOU'RE AWAKE!" America lunged forward, checking himself at the last minute as FEMA let out an apprehensive squeak from below. " You wouldn't wake up," America offered intelligently. FEMA stared. "I came by to see if you had everything together for the New Madrid excercise, and when I found you you were lying in the rain and you weren't moving and you were so _cold_..." America looked down at the blanket, his face turning pale. " I...I was scared. So I called England and he came and we brought you home. England told me to watch you while he went to get medicine..he said you were sick..."

FEMA swallowed experimentally, wincing in pain. His throat felt like it was lodged with nails.

" I was worried, FEMA. I'm...I'm just really glad you're alright." FEMA grunted in response, irritated by how even the noise sounded sickly and weak. He turned his head away, gazing past the window at the outside world. The rain beat like a drum against the glass pane, ringing through the silence.

"FE-Will...I want to thank you..." America spoke softly, hesitantly. "You do a lot...I mean, everybody does, but you do too..."

FEMA's fingers curled tightly around the blankets. He could feel Ameria's eyes piercing him through those stupid glasses, but he kept his gaze averted. The trees outside were safer.

" I promise you, man, once things settle down a bit we'll have some time to just kick back and hang out. You can trust me, 'cause I'm the Hero and all."

No answer.

America fell silent, watching Will's eyes watch the window. The latter began to cough again, drawing a sharp, rattling breath as a pair of arms wrapped awkwardly around his neck. America's cheek was pressed against his own.

" T...Thanks, Will. For everything," America mumbled. FEMA didn't respond. But at that moment, he didn't quite have the strength to pull away, either.

**A/N: Yeah, so, I wrote this in the middle of the night, fueled by insomnia and a random desire to write something concerning mine and my cousin's OC, Will, who is a personification of FEMA and all the crazy crap it supposedly entails. Though this was more just to explore what America's relationship with Will would be. I wasn't even planning on posting it until my cousin and I opened a joint account on deviantart and submitted some of our drawings of him...we just got insanely bored one day and I realized FEMA would actually make a pretty cool Hetalia character, and my cousin was kind enough to draw up a design for him. But anyway. Hopefully this wasn't too awful! I really need to write fanfiction more often, it's been awhile. Until next time! **


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